The A in Agender Stands for Anarchy
by Yessica-N
Summary: It never was really clear to Moomin what exactly Snufkin was. They were just Snufkin really, who played songs and hated park keepers and slept outside. Then The Joxter visits the valley and suddenly it all makes sense.


**Just a little one-shot of me projecting all my non-binary headcanons all over my favorite Moomin characters. Nothing to see here...**

* * *

It's nearing the end of summer when Snufkin tells him the Joxter will be coming soon.

They are sitting in between the flowers on the hill. Snufkin is playing on their mouth organ, not their new spring tune but one from a previous year and Moomin is dozing, barely awake really, when Snufkin stops suddenly.

"I do believe my father will make an appearance before long," they say lightly, like making small talk.

Moomin tries hard not to show how much this simple statement piques his interest. He has heard a lot about The Joxter, mostly from his own father, but never met them. "How do you know?"

Snufkin smiles, but their eyes are fixed on the distance, trees swaying unsteadily in a sweltering breeze. "For all their unpredictable ways," they say, "the Joxter can be surprisingly predictable," and resumes playing.

Moomin nods sagely, like maybe he understands what Snufkin had meant with that. When in reality it has only confused him further. Still, if The Joxter, who is known to be as much of a vagabond as their child is, would stop by the valley, Moomin would finally get to meet them.

More than anything he feels the burning curiosity to see if this strange person is really anything like papa described them. And if they are as similar to Snufkin as people say they are. Moomin doesn't know if that is possible, he has never encountered anybody quite like his best friend, who is so very special in every which way and unlike most anybody else in the valley, though that never appeared to bother them.

"The wind is changing," Snufkin says, pulling Moomin out of the depths of his own thoughts. He hadn't noticed their song was over already. "That's how I know."

"Oh!" He nods, watching as the flowers do seem to bend in a different direction than before, though it's not something he would think himself to notice. Snufkin notices those kinds of things. "Is it a bit like you, in autumn?"

"Perhaps..." They turn their head and there's a smile pulling at their lips, just a tad too impudent to be usual. "Perhaps it is just because the wind tends to blow stray animals indoors."

Moomin shakes his head but doesn't question them. It would take a lot for this Joxter to be any stranger than his Snufkin already is.

* * *

(And by the time dusk sets in and the windy weather has dwindled down to nothing, the Joxter themselfs arrive in the valley to prove him wrong.)

* * *

Moomin was already asleep by that time, fidgeting in bed restlessly while turning the meaning of Snufkin's words over in his head until they're shapeless, but the following morning it is hard for him to miss the person sprawled on their sitting room sofa. He lets out a noise of surprise and the person merely stretches in response, tilting a wide-brimmed hat away from their face to look at him.

Their eyes are blue and not like Snufkin's at all, Moomin can't help but think. Apart from that they really are eerily similar in appearance.

"H-hello?" he mumbles eventually, because the person – who Moomin by now has concluded to be The Joxter – is still just looking at him from a weird angle, long legs draped over the armrest. Their feet are bare and quite dirty.

"Hello," The Joxter responds.

They don't really say anything else and neither does Moomin. He probably needs to chastise himself for staring, but it's hard not to when one is being so unabashedly stared at in turn. Their clothes are well worn, but tidier than he expected going by his father's stories, except for the hat which looks to be older than Moomin himself and faded red in color. The Joxter is holding it to keep it from blowing away in the rekindled summer breeze of morning, which is what makes Moomin realize the window is open and the door still firmly locked.

"Did you break in?" he asks sincerely, trying not to sound too much like he's in awe of this.

The Joxter sits up, looking at the window as if just now noticing it was there. "It would seem so," they admit. "I'm afraid I don't remember, but it wasn't terribly hard to do, I think."

Moomin is glad his parents choose this moment to come downstairs because he doesn't have a response to such casual admittance of guilt. He knows Snufkin tends to do things like that sometimes, more than once they had to ask Moomin for help when the park keeper was after them again, but he thinks even Snufkin never broke into the Moomin house before. They usually just knock.

He watches as his father and mother come in, equally surprised by The Joxter's sudden appearance but not so much the open window and locked door. Mamma fusses over them and the Joxter begrudgingly allows her to herd them into the kitchen, removing the hat from their head and putting it on the coat rack instead. Their hair is long and dark and just a little unruly, with leaves tangled in the strands. They sit down in a strange manner, legs curled up in the chair in a way that only looks uncomfortable to Moomin but they seem to prefer it. They push the fabric of their long skirt to the side so it's not in the way.

Pappa speaks to them for a long time, excitingly narrating all the events they have missed along the many years of their absence. The Joxter merely nods along amiable but barely speaks themselfs, while Moomin eats the fluffy pancakes his Mamma always prepares when they have guests over (and tries to get a word in edgeways, which is hard). Eventually, Pappa does need to stop for a moment when Mamma pushes his morning cup of tea into his paws and Moomin immediately jumps at the opportunity to ask the most important, burning question on his mind.

"Did you come here to see Snufkin?"

The Joxter turns their head to him, blinks twice. "I do suppose they're hanging around here these days, then?"

"You didn't know?"

"Vaguely." Joxter shrugs. "I don't do well to remember things."

"You might remember to brush your hair next time," Mamma chides playfully. "Growing it out again, are you?"

They make a face, much like the one Little My makes whenever somebody tries to use the tea kettle she is occupying. "It's very inconvenient."

"If it's inconvenient then why are you-" Moomin starts, before realizing halfway through that it is a rude thing to ask and stopping himself.

The Joxter laughs softly, leaning their elbows on the table. "Why does anybody do anything, my boy?"

He doesn't have an answer to that. But he has to admit it is definitely a very Snufkin thing to say, and the thought brings some excitement back to him. "When we're done, I can take you to Snufkin? I think they'll be so pleased to see you."

"We'll see about that," The Joxter merely answers with a cryptic smile, picking their hat back from the coat rack.

* * *

They find Snufkin, not at their campsite but fishing downstream the creek. They don't usually pick that spot, but Moomin doesn't think much of it, too preoccupied with the peculiar way the two greet each other.

"Father," Snufkin says, without even looking up from the water.

"Child," The Joxter responds with the exact same intonation. Then they sit down, one knee bend underneath themself. The breeze has settled down again.

They sit in silence for what to Moomin feels like an unbearably long period of time. Curiosity is still burning inside him, but too much it feels like this is something he can not intrude on, and in a way it reminds him of all the time he spent with Snufkin over the years.

Never one for needless small talk, his friend often preferred sitting together in silence, enjoying the beauty of the valley in spring, the way it came alive around them, or in autumn, when nature dwindled in the most pretty of colors. Moomin didn't always find it easy, he often felt like he needed to be saying something, telling something, scared that Snufkin would think he was boring otherwise.

They had assured him there wasn't a boring thing about him, and Moomin rather not admit how that made his heart skip a beat.

Now wasn't much different, his mind wandering along while the morning sun slowly rose to afternoon and warmed his fur. The Joxter was humming, a tune Moomin recognized vaguely but he didn't know where from. Maybe Snufkin had played it once? Joxter was doing something with their hands, deft little movements and after a moment Moomin realized they were braiding flowers.

Snufkin wasn't wearing their hat, it got discarded in the grass somewhere, and when The Joxter is done they place the flower crown on their child's head, admiring their own handy-work. "You let Moominmama cut it?" they ask then.

"Sometimes," Snufkin answers. "I can't let it get too messy," and at that, they threw a sharp look in their father's direction that The Joxter pointedly ignores.

"It looks like you," they say instead, as if pleased somehow and Snufkin smiles, just a little bit.

As they get up, the Joxter brushes their skirt, the embroidery stained green from sitting on the grass all day, though they hardly seem to mind. "I left your gift at the Moominhouse. Quite pretty, I think it will suit you."

"Will you come back sooner this time, then?"

"Oh child," Joxter shudders as if the mere notion upsets them. "You know I don't do promises."

They nod briefly in Moomin's direction, grin sharp and full of teeth and then they disappear from the valley as quickly as they had arrived.

* * *

They return to the house together, Moomin carrying the fishing rod over one shoulder and with Snufkin's hat on his head, because they're still wearing the flower crown. They don't talk on the way over, still content in the silence.

The gift The Joxter left is indeed very beautiful, a skirt much like the one they were wearing but in a striking blue rather than the more earthy brown and red tones The Joxter had seemed to prefer. Snufkin was very happy with it too.

"I have made up my mind," Moomin tells them eventually, when they sit down on the couch beside him. "I think you and The Joxter are indeed the same."

Snufkin shakes their head in response. "They taught me many things, maybe. But don't let them hear it, or _I _will never know the end of it." And as they say it they flatten the crinkles in their new garment.

"Where do you think they got something so pretty?"

"They make clothes for themself. One of the only tedious works they commit to..." Snufkin hesitates a moment. "But as for the fabric... I reckon they stole it."

Before Moomin could reply, Moominmamma comes down the stairs in a hurry, frantic paws turning over anything big or small she could find. Moomin asks her what is wrong and she gives them a regretful look.

"Oh dear, I seem to have misplaced the fabric I got for the Sunday dress I was going to sew," she tells them.

Moomin and Snufkin share a glance, trying hard not to dissolve into laughter. Mama ignores them both in favor of looking under the armchair cushions again, before rushing out to the kitchen.

And Moomin can't help thinking that for their thievery, it was just one more thing in which Snufkin and The Joxter are ever so similar.

* * *

**Tumblr: sharada-n**


End file.
